


Raise the Sails

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chester is away at sea for long periods of time and Mike is having trouble coping</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise the Sails

**Author's Note:**

> Under crests of stars, water breaks a broken heart.

They don’t understand. They never did.

“A fisherman?” Brad asked incredulously. “Is that even a job?”

Dave elbowed him sharply in the ribs and looked up to smile at Mike as genuinely as possible. “We’re all real happy for you, Mike,” he said, casting a sideways glance at Brad, “aren’t we?”

Brad sipped his beer and went back to leering at the waitress as she walked past with a tray held high. “Yeah,” he said, “whatever.”

Mike hadn’t cared anyway, because as far as he was concerned Chester was the one. They spent their first few weeks together in bed, Chester pressing him down into the mattress and pushing in slowly. Mike clawed blunt nails down his back and whimpered, moaned as they found a desperate rhythm. They always came together.

But then. “I’m away for months at a time,” Chester said anxiously, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug and blowing away the steam.

Mike tried to put on a brave face and smiled, reaching one hand across the table to stroke Chester’s tattooed forearm reassuringly. “I’ll be okay,” he said, “I still love you.”

“I love you too,” Chester said with a smile, blushing and ducking his head.

Despite what he told himself and his friends it was utter hell being alone whilst Chester was at sea. He watched the news morning and night, he checked tides on the internet, he dreamt of being washed up on an island, he dreamt of sirens leading ships to wreck. He realised, eventually, what an unhealthy way that is to live and tried to pull himself together. Chester wouldn’t want to come home to the pigsty that currently was their house and, quite frankly, it had been far too long since Mike had showered.

The day Chester’s ship came in Mike met him at the port and waited anxiously, rocking back and forth on his heels. As Chester approached he held up his hands to stop Mike rushing into his arms, “I absolutely stink of diesel and fish,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

It was like that. A couple of months at home, over double spent at sea. The worst was Christmas – Mike was inconsolable. He’d get drunk after work and walk to the beach, gather a stone and put it in a jar at home. One stone a day, and once the jar was full it meant Chester was due home. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon and he’d cry and cry and cry.

But Chester always came home. Like drift wood washed up on the shore. Mike always expected things to have changed but they remained the same, just a little softened around the edges. Their relationship, shaped by the sea.

The first night was always the best. They’d make love wherever they were – often the kitchen floor, the bathroom, the stairs, rarely the bedroom. Chester would trail kisses allover Mike’s body, his touch as light as a sea breeze. His body was so strong, and Mike always felt so safe in his arms. Later, they’d curl up on the sofa, Mike with his head pillowed on Chester’s breastbone.

“Tell me about the sea,” he would ask.

Chester smiled, ran a hand through Mike’s hair, “She’s unpredictable and addictive. The people who love her can never leave her. Not for long. Her call is too strong. You stay on land too long and you can smell the salt in the air, every sound is the gulls call on the harsh wind. You get sea sick standing still.”

Chester liked to smoke cigarettes he rolled himself, he liked to go out to the garden and put on his favourite song (Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles) and dance in the sun’s failing light as Mike watched from the porch, laughing and laughing. He’d take Mike out to dinner and surprise him with flowers, he’d sing to him and take him dancing. Mike had never been so in love.

Mike could never go to the port to say goodbye and Chester didn’t want him to, so they’d make it as casual and easy as possible for both of them. Chester would blink away tears and kiss him on the lips, “I love you,” he’d say, “be good.”

“I love you too. See you soon.”

And then he’d be gone again.

Dave would meet Mike after work and they’d go to the closest bar to drink. Brad would slink in, later, and play catch up with them until they were all equally as drunk. Mike peeled the label from his bottle under the close scrutiny of his friends.

“How long is he gone this time?” Brad asked.

“Four months.”

Dave clucked and shook his head sympathetically, “That’s...”

“It’s crab season,” Mike said, “and it’s his job. I spent all morning photocopying. At least he is doing something he loves.”

“So, he loves being away from you for months at a time? You’ve been together five years and you’ve not spent a full year together.”

“I’m not going to fucking argue about this anymore, okay?” Mike snapped, getting to his feet. “Support me. Or don’t. Whatever, I’m going home.”

That was four months ago.

Mike goes to meet Chester at the docks and, as the sun sets, he goes to see the harbour master. “His ship is due in by now,” he says, wringing his hands anxiously, “have you heard anything?”

The harbour master looks away, struggles to find the words. He doesn’t have to say anything though, Mike already knows from the expression on his face. “There was a storm,” he says, eventually. “They were swept off course and hit rocks, a hole was torn into the hull. A lot of men, they were swept overboard before it even sank, a lot of them drowned trapped below deck. It was like…they say it was like a floating coffin.” He looks up and meets Mike’s eyes, lines of worry worn into his face.

They didn’t recover Chester’s body.

When he gets home he looks around at the life they’ve built. The drift wood they collected, the feathers, jars of shells and colourful stones. He trashes the bedroom, blinded by tears and rage and grief. This isn’t how their story was supposed to go, this isn’t the ending he saw for them. He drinks a litre of vodka, wandering from room to room with the bottle clasped loosely in his hand.

How could this have happened? How could there have just suddenly been rocks? And if Chester hasn’t been found then is he still out there? Scared and alone and cold and lost?

It takes weeks, but when he finally pulls himself together enough to function again he buys a lighthouse.

It needs a lot of work doing to it and takes months but Mike doesn’t mind. He gets the stone repainted candy stripes of red and white, he gets the light serviced and back in working order. There will be no more ship wrecks here if he can help it.

When Brad and Dave come to visit for the first time they look around, confused. “I don’t...get it,” Brad says.

“We’re really happy for you though, Mike. You look a lot better since you moved here.”

When they leave Mike knows he won’t see them again. Not that he doesn’t want to, but he can’t leave the lighthouse and he knows they won’t come back. If he leaves then Chester won’t find him. He left a forwarding address with the owner of their old house, if he goes out for even a second Chester might think he left him.

The driftwood he and Chester collected from the beach still has pride of place on every shelf and there are the jars and jars of shells and stones alongside them. Most importantly, though, Mike makes sure everything is the way Chester would want it to be. He knows, when he comes home, that he’ll love it here.

When the sun sets he creeps up to the observation deck and watches out over the waves as the light spins and spins, its beam sweeping the ocean and illuminating the empty water. He waits for a distress flare to explode in the sky, his cell phone ready to call the coast guard. Not until the sun rises does he disappear back down to the bedroom, crawling into bed and curling up, the sound of seagulls and the crashing of waves lulling him to sleep.

As the midday sun glares through the haze of clouds he goes down to the beach to collect a stone. Just one. He puts it in a jar with the one from yesterday. A stone a day, And when the jar is full Chester will come home.

He calls the harbour master daily, keeps in close contact with the survivors from Chester’s ship that were found. He calls all other ports that Chester’s ship would have called at but still, nobody knows where he is. That’s okay, Mike tells himself. Don’t cry, it’s fine. He’ll be home soon.

The jar of stones is full, so Mike starts on another one. One stone a day. Since he moved into the lighthouse he has over twenty jars of stones. But just another jar, just one more. And once it’s full Chester will come back.

He’ll be okay.

The stars will keep him safe and guide him home.

**Author's Note:**

> _I am awake, and I’m still alive out here._


End file.
